Deep Fried Passions
by The Cheshire Cheese
Summary: Food mascots from around the world gather for the long-anticipated union of Colonel Sanders and Aunt Jemima. But their wedding is cut short, when Cap'n Crunch objects, citing a dark secret Jemima's been harboring in her attic, one that might prove fatal for her and the Colonel's love...not to mention, just plain fatal.


**A/N: I'm house sitting for my parents, and don't have access to my more serious stories. So I can't work on "Fairest in the Universe" or "Silver Bird" tonight. **

**So instead…this. I've had this scenario in my head for some time now, and tonight seems as good a time as any to finally record it. Enjoy.**

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The Sanders family chicken farm was more crowded than it had been in sixteen generations. Half of the Food Mascot Community had been invited—and the rest had turned up anyway. The Jolly Green Giant stood towering over the barn, dressed in his Papal hat and robes, holding the Holy Bible (King James edition, with cliff-notes) in front of him. A sea of attendants covered the rolling hills of the Sanders farm, allowing just a long thin path of green grass between them, to serve as the wedding isle.

A third of the crowd was composed of invited Mascot friends—the Trix Rabbit, Ronald McDonald, the Hamburgler, the Cookie Crisp Robbers and their dog, Count Cholula, and so forth. Another third was made up of relatives, of both the bride and the groom's families. Which people belonged to the Sanders family, and which to Aunt Jemima's, wasn't hard to guess. Even if it weren't for the color coordination, the Sanders relatives all bore a very strong resemblance to one another. One might say that they all looked exactly like the Colonel himself, in various different wigs and costumes. The final third of the crowd was composed of the Sanders farm chickens, clucking and flapping their wings enthusiastically, blissfully unaware of what the main course for the wedding dinner was going to be.

Grandpa Sanders whispered angrily, "Where's the groom?"

Great Aunt Biv Sanders snorted, "Having second thoughts, maybe. I still can't believe my own great-nephew, Colonel Sanders the 11th, is considering marrying a black woman!"

"Aw can it, ya old bat," spat little Sanders Jr., the Colonel's half-nephew (an 11-year-old boy in black emo clothing and makeup, who otherwise resembled his half-uncle, right down to the beard). "Get into the 21st century why don'tcha. Trix Rabbit just married one of the Keelber elves last fall in New Jersey."

"Sure," Great Aunt Biv Sanders grunted. "But ya _expect_ those guys to be queers. Ya _don't_ expect _Colonel Sanders_ ta marry a woman of Color!"

Grandpa Jebediah—Aunt Jemima's grandfather—pointed with his cane. "I think I see him!"

There came the Colonel, trotting up the hill, being pulled along by his Best Man, Tony the Tiger. The Colonel was stumbling, and looked extremely hung over.

"C'mon Colonel!" Tony urged, in his usual enthusiastic shouting. "Straighten your tie!"

"Quit yellin' in my ear ya big dumb walking carpet, I'm standing right next to ya!" the Colonel bellowed, in his Deep South accent. "I can't do it Tony, I can't get married! I got cold feet! I can't get married—I'm too old! I'll probably get Alzheimer's by the time it's time to take our vows and forget what I'm supposed to say!"

"Colonel, you've been an old geezer for decades, as long as I can remember!" Tony assured him. "Your mind's been sharp as a razor, the whole way! The only thing _you_ might get is a heart disease from all that fried chicken."

The Colonel stopped, and suddenly straightened himself. "You're right Tony, as usual."

He gave his enthused friend a high-five (Tony loved those), and took his place at the altar (well, barn), next to (well, under) the Jolly Green Priest.

A hush came over the farm, as the ceremony began.

The flower girl came first: the cute little Jewish girl with the long, black, frizzy hair, in a ruffled blue dress. She skipped down the grass isle, with a bottle of Pepsi in each hand. As she sprinkled the soda onto the grass, flowers immediately blossomed up, of every species and color imaginable, covering the isle in a carpet of flora.

Pepsi Girl was followed by the bridesmaids: The Indian Maiden (dressed in her brightest, butter-yellow buckskin gown); Brittany Spears (who hadn't looked so blonde or sexy since her last Pepsi commercial, at the turn of the century); and Wendy (in her best blue-and-white stripped gown, her red pigtails in elegant French braids). Each held bouquets of roses, daffodils, and dandelions, respectively.

Finally, the music started up. The Hawaiian Punch Man hummed along to himself, as he played the wedding theme on the large organ on the roof of the barn. Aunt Jemima began her trek down the mile-long wedding isle, with her arm around her father, Bubba. Aunt Jemima was dressed a lacy wedding gown, decked with a white and gold checkered pattern. A long veil trailed behind her, being carried by the three Keebler elves (who had also tailored it for her).

All of the relatives and friends looked on. Mama and Papa Sanders, Sanders Jr., Great Aunt Biv Sanders... And Jemima's nephews and nieces, Billy, Bobby, Birtha, Barbara, Belinda, Suzie, Sandra, Jonathan, Jonasina, Penny, Bob, Rob, George, Ronald, Donald, Lonald, Carrie, Harry, Larry, Betty-Sue, Billy-Bob, Jim-Bob, Michael-Bob, Annie-Jean, Bobbie-Jo, Anastasia, Terry, and…well, the list is extensive. They don't call her Aunt Jemima for nothing, you know.

The organ music reached a climax, as Jemima and the Colonel came face to face at the front of the barn.

"Dearly Beloved," The Jolly Green Giant began. "We are gathered here today to witness the union of Colonel Mitchell-Bob Raymond Sanders 11th, and Aunt Jemima Tatiana Giselle Barton, in the bonds of Holy Matrimony. Aunt Jemima: do you swear to stand by the Colonel through sickens and health, through perfect brownies and burnt ones, excellent fried chicken and okay-ish chicken, good business and bankruptcy, fame and obscurity, now and forever, till death do you part?"

Looking into the Colonel's deep, blueberry-frosting-colored eyes, Jemima replied, "I do."

"And do you Colonel vow to do all the stuff I just said to her?"

The Colonel looked into Aunt Jemima's fudge-brownie colored eyes. "I do."

"Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wi—"

"OBJECTION!"

The Green Giant looked around, searching for the voice's origin. Throwing his green leafy hands up, the Giant bellowed, "Who asked?!"

Two men came stomping up the isle. One was the famous Cap'n Crunch. The other was a similar looking man, with a white wig and a pointed hat, but he was drawn far more realistically.

"Quaker!" Jemima gasped.

Colonel Sanders jabbed his cane into the ground angrily. "Quaker, you anal, tree-hugging, pacifist, anarchist commie pompous! Jemima dumped you! Get it through that thick wig of yours!"

"This has nothing to do with me and Jemima." The Quaker drew himself up to his full height. "This is about someone _else_ and Jemima!"

Poor Jemima's face grew as pale as frosted flakes.

"What the devil are you talking about?" Sanders demanded.

Quaker glanced down at Captain Crunch. "Tell them what you saw, Captain."

Captain Crunch angrily faced the crowd on both sides of the isle. "I got lost in Aunt Jemima's house at the last Christmas party! I wandered around the mansion drunk, searching for a magical wardrobe that would take me to Narnia—I was hammered, don't ask alright?—I didn't find no Narnia. But what I did find…was that Aunt Jemima…is _already married_!" The crowd gasped (or clucked, in some cases.) "Don't believe me? Just ask her to show you _what's in her attic_."

Sanders turned to Jemima. "He's drunk _now_, isn't he! He has no idea what he's talking about does he!"

Jemima just looked at her lover, with hard eyes. Reluctantly, she turned to face the crowd, her family and friends. "It's true," she said bitterly. "I'm married. To a man—if you can even call him that—who I have not ever, and could never, love."

Her three best friends stared at her, dumbstruck. The Indian Maid's jaw was hanging opened. Britney Spears looked sympathetic. Wendy went pale as a blank placemat before a toddler scribbles on it, and feinted.

"Maybe it'll make more sense if I show y'all, instead of tell you." Aunt Jemima sneered. "Come, let's go meet my husband!"

Jemima led the crowd of wedding guests across the hills, to her family mansion across the lake. The food mascots, relatives and chickens poured in through the front doors, like a swarm of ants flooding through a crack in the wall. Up the wide staircase they went, up another, and another, up a long spiraled stair, into an elevator, they sat for ten minutes listening to crappy elevator music, then up more stairs, until finally, they reached the attic.

Aunt Jemima pulled a ring of keys from her lacy wedding apron, and picked out a large, old, rusted key. She jabbed in into the attic door, and forced it opened.

The room beyond was dark, filled with cobwebs, and…smoke? No…steam! An old man was bent over an old woodstove, hard at work.

Colonel Sanders leaned in through the doorway. "Is he making…rice?"

Aunt Jemima nodded solemnly. "Meet my husband…Uncle Ben."

Uncle Ben turned to face the visitors, with wide, psychotic eyes. "That's 'Uncle X' for now…until I get my lawsuit against that fat bastard who stole my name!"

The Jolly Green Giant whispered, "Who's he talking about?"

"Big Ben," Jemima sighed. "You know, the big clock in England."

"Oh…"

Uncle Ben muttered madly to himself. "'Bland rice'… 'chicken fine without it'… 'Chinese do it better'…I'll show them! I'll show the whole world!"

"It's like this." Jemima turned back to the crowd. "When I was fifteen years old, my Ma and Pa, both now dead, had me married off to a man who they said would support me fine, with his great cooking business. Ben seemed nice when we first met. But no one liked his rice. Said it was the cheapest, blandest crap they'd ever tasted.

"Peeps, it broke him. His mind snapped. Couldn't handle the reality, that every single group on the planet—the Chinese, the Indians, the Native Americans, even the frikkin' English—can make rice taste more interesting than the bland 'add water and stuff it in the microwave' crap he cooks up. He went mad…real mad. There were murders around our neighborhood, people found chopped up with axes or chainsaws, or stuffed into wood chippers, and neatly arranged in rice dishes surrounded by carrots or potatoes.

"I had to protect society. But as a wife, I had to protect my husband too. So I locked Ben up in the basement. After I made my big break with my brownies and syrup and other junk foods, and got this mansion, I moved him up to the attic. I thought I could keep it a secret from the world…but I guess I was wrong." She glared at Captain Crunch.

"Hey," the Cap'n held up his cartoonish hands defensively. "It's not like I went _looking_ for your old man! I was drunk out of my mind! I saw water leakin' out from under the door, and I thought there were mermaids in the room beyond—maybe that pretty siren who stole that bag of bugles from me twelve years ago, who knows. Instead, I came in, and this maniac tries chopping me up into rice! He had me tied up with spaghetti, sitting in a pot to be boiled up! Luckily for me, spaghetti losses its firm grip when put into hot water, and I was able to break free, and escape out the window."

"So!" Quaker folded his arms over his chest. "What do you all have to say to that? Hmm?"

A low gruff voice said, "I say…dinner is served!"

Uncle Ben was behind Quaker, with an ax raised.

"Ben!" Jemima cried. "Don't!"

Ben brought the ax down, and chopped Quaker down the middle! He chopped again—and again—until Quaker was little more than a pile of flakes, like his cereal.

"RUN FOR IT!" The Jolly Green Giant bellowed, before Ben chopped him in half, sending leaves flying everywhere.

Everyone ran in different directions, but Ben seemed to always be there waiting for them. Three of Sanders' chickens took off down the stairs, half falling and half flying (well, their wings were flapping), until Ben's ax decapitated them all with one swish! Tony the Tiger dodged Ben's ax, but tripped over his own tail, and tumbled into a bookshelf. Trix Rabbit took a blow to the head, and stumbled out a window.

"_I never got to try just one Triiix_…" he cried, as he plummeted to his doom.

Soon, bodies were everywhere. Goldie the Goldfish had had her head bitten off. Half of Count Chocula lay draped over the sofa, and the other half was in the bathtub. One Keebler elf sobbed over the other elf's body, until Ben's ax caught him in the back, sending him to join his friend.

"Ay!" Captain Crunch leaped onto the railing of one of the staircases, his cutlass drawn. "Avast, you crotchety old fart!"

Uncle Ben roared, and swung at Crunch. They dueled, ax on sword, while epic pirate music blasted from nowhere (courtesy Hans Zimmer). Crunch grabbed the chandelier that hung over the stairs, and swung over to another staircase. Ben did a Matrix-style leap over to the staircase, and the duel continued... until Ben chopped off the hand that held the cutlass!

"HEY!" Crunch exclaimed, grabbing his stump. "I ONLY GOT TWO OF THOSE!"

"Crunch," Ben said, breathing deeply. "I am…"

"Say 'your father,' and I'll—"

"…getting bored of this swordfight." Ben dealt Crunch a fatal stab, and sent the captain tumbling down the stairs.

"Crunchers too?! Oh, what have I done!" Jemima cried.

Ben turned, and suddenly, Jemima and Colonel Sanders were both being backed down the staircase, Ben slowly descending above them, with his ax raised.

"What have you done?" Ben laughed like the Joker. "What have you done? You've sold more popular food than your husband…by making unhealthy, chocolate, sugar-stuffed, pastries, that doubtless contribute to America's child obesity! That's what you've done! I tried to make healthy food, but oh no! No one wants rice, they want brownies! And maple syrup! And," he glared at Sanders, "Fried chicken!"

From a balcony overlooking the scene, the three bridesmaids and the flower girl watched in horror.

"What do we do?" Pepsi girl whispered.

From behind them, they heard Great Aunt Biv Sanders cry, "Someone save my great nephew!"

Wendy grabbed the Indian Maiden's arm. "I.M.! Don't you have some Indian badassedry you can pull? Surely somewhere in that beaded bodice of yours, there's a bow-and-arrow, or a hatchet, or a spear…"

The Indian Maiden, or I.M., smiled slowly. "I've got something much better than that, White Man."

Wendy frowned. "I'm a girl."

"Sure you are. And I'm the tooth fairy."

Below on the staircase, Ben raised his ax. "Don't worry Jemima, I don't wanna hurt'cha, I just wanna bash her freaking brains out!"

Jemima and Sanders screamed like little girls, grabbed hands, and fled the rest of the way down the stairs. Jemima led Sanders through a door, which she yanked shut and locked. Ben, predictably, chopped a little hole in the door. Even more predictably, he stuck his head through the hole, and laughed, "_Wendy, I'm home_!"

"Someone say my name?" Wendy called stupidly, from the balcony.

Ignoring her, Ben brought his ax down again, adding to the hole in the door. "Heeere's Johnny!"

"Oh-ho, Ben!" Jemima cried desperately. "First a Star Wars gag, then Jack Nicholson… do you have ANY original material?!"

Sanders shook his head in despair. "Of all the attics in all the mansions in all the worlds—"

"Oh can it!" Jemima shouted.

Ben finally kicked down the door, and stepped into the room. Now he had them cornered.

"What kind of rice should I make tonight?" he taunted. "White rice?" he glared at Colonel Sanders. "Brown rice?" glared at his wife. "How about…WILD RICE!"

"Oh god, the PUNS!" Jemima covered her ears.

Ben brought his ax up, laughing manically—

_T-T-T-T-T T-T-T-T-T T-T-T-T-T…_

Ben stumbled, as his body was filled with bullet holes, until he looked like a used pin cushion. His body crumbled to the floor. Behind him, standing on the balcony above, the Indian Maiden held a smoking Tommy Gun.

Blowing the smoke off her gun, I.M. said proudly, "Nothing like a firearm at your side…Protecting Americans from foreign invaders since 1492!"

"Not bad," Jemima nodded, putting her hands on her hips.

Sanders threw up a hand. "Why the HELL didn't you break out the gun before, girlie?"

"Erm…" I.M. looked around sheepishly. "…Plot Hole?"

Jemima shook her head. "Let's just get married."

"Say, that's right," Sanders pointed at her. "You're a widow now, aren't you! So you're available!"

"Wait for me!" Tony the Tiger stumbled out of the library, with several old books still handing off his large stripped body. "I'm not quite dead…"

"On my way!" the top half of the Green Giant clawed his way through the damaged doorway, his Bible in one hand. He flicked the book opened, and said, "Here we go, short, short version, 'Spaceballs' style. Aunt, do you?"

"I do."

"Colonel, do you?"

"Hell yes!"

"Good, yer married, kiss her."

Jemima and the Colonel kissed passionately. The surviving wedding guests cheered and applauded, and showered the couple with white grains. Jemima smiled; they had finally, finally, found a use for Uncle Ben's rice.

FIN.

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**A/N: Anyone who has read or seen "Jane Eyre" recognizes the plot of this tale. It is traditional, if I'm not mistaken, to draw inspiration from Classic sources. **


End file.
